Three Kinds of Lost: A Reverse Harem Academy Romance (The True and the Crown Book 3)

by May Dawson

  Three Kinds of Lost

  May Dawson

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Also by May Dawson

  A Note From May

  About the Author

  Prologue

  The Man from Avalon

  Moirus Neal pushed open the door to the pub and smiled as he peered into the darkness of the room. He couldn’t see who he was smiling at. The transition from the relentless sunshine to the dim room had left him unable to make out anything more than vaguely human shapes around the bar, but he wanted to make a good impression. He wanted to seem harmless.

  The door creaked as it swung shut behind him. As his eyes adjusted to the dim, he threaded his way through the tables to the long wooden bar. This place was quiet for now, with only a few knots of die-hard day-drinkers clustered at tables and a couple of young good-for-nothings loitering around the pool table.

  “Moirus Neal,” the bartender boomed, louder than Moirus cared for. The man’s red-cheeked face split into a grin. “Good to see you again.”

  “It’s nice someone feels that way.” Moirus pulled out one of the polished wooden stools. “How’ve you been, Loren?”

  “Same as ever.”

  “Still a bit forgetful?” Moirus asked, as if he were inquiring about his health. Loren owned half this bar, or at least, he had when it first opened. Moirus had been friends with both Loren and his brother Skel, the other owner. After Skel began enchanting Loren so he could steal from the bar, Loren developed an inability to keep many facts in his memory long-term. He remembered names and faces, but he lost track of details.

  He was very useful.

  “Doctors don’t know what’s wrong.” Loren shook his head. “Still got a keen eye for faces, though.”

  “What else do you need?” Moirus asked. “Faces, people, that’s all that matters.”

  “Exactly,” Loren agreed cheerfully.

  He wasn’t always cheerful. Loren sometimes fell into what seemed like incoherent rages to outsiders. They didn’t realize that it was a moment of lucidity that drove his sudden, violent fury at his brother. He was still alive because those rare, unpredictable episodes were balanced by his usefulness.

  “I’ve got a message for you, actually,” Loren went on.

  “I hoped you would.”

  The bubble that Loren placed on the pitted wood was tougher than a typical bubble, and Moirus had to roll his fingerprints across it before he could flatten it under his palm. It resisted, then finally popped, releasing the faintest putrid odor.

  As magic shimmered in the air, Moirus leaned forward automatically to catch the words.

  “The past has come calling, my friend. There are men looking for you. They don’t have your name—yet—but they realize you borrowed your identity from a corpse. It seems someone wants to know who would hurt little Tera Donovan.”

  She hadn’t been that little. He stirred on the bar stool, remembering the fourteen-year-old girl she had been, with her eyes wide with terror. Strands of golden-brown hair were plastered to her damp face as she struggled. He’d wanted to take more from her than her magic. He’d toyed with the idea of bringing her home with him, keeping her as his.

  Then she’d driven a knife into his gut. As if she hadn’t taken enough from him, when her father took Kella.

  “Be careful,” the voice warned. “She’s got a pair of ex-Crown bodyguards. The royals think we’re all stupid and won’t put that together. And the True knuckleheads in Corum have been trying to recruit her.”

  They must not realize she was useless. There must be a way he could use that information to his advantage. Someone would be willing to pay for it. Maybe he could get in good with the True again, the way things used to be.

  Morius swept the shreds of the bubble off the wood with the back of his hand. His greed warred with his sense of rage. His side ached, reminding him of how he’d stumbled bleeding out of that house and down a dirtside street.

  Maybe he’d just kill Tera Donovan and end it once and for all.

  Maybe there was a better way to ruin her.

  Let them come looking for him. He’d be hunting her in turn.

  Chapter 1

  Tera

  When class ends, I scoop up my wand and books, ready to hurry to dinner.

  Stelly’s still staring blankly at the chalkboard in a way that makes me think she didn’t hear much about the Calculus of Portal Magic. It never fails to surprise me that there’s so much damned math in magic.

  “Stelly?”

  She suddenly comes to life, tucking her pencil through her soft blond hair behind my ear, and glancing around the near-empty classroom as if she wants to be sure we won’t be heard. “Yes. Sorry. Have you ever thought, if you had to pick one of the guys, which one it would be?”

  “Come again?” My stomach growls. I could really use a snack before hypotheticals like this one.

  “I’m just curious,” she says. “You’re still angry at my brother.”

  “We’re fine,” I say.

  “It’s been weeks and I haven’t even seen you two kiss.”

  I shake my head. “It’s just been weeks since I saw him kiss another girl, no matter how good his intentions or adorable his groveling afterward.”

  She waves off the statement. “You and Mycroft have been moving at a disappointingly glacial pace, for that matter.”

  “Blame Croft.” I feel like I’ve made my willingness to tumble into bed with him all too clear.

  “So would it be Airren?” she asks delicately. She certainly knows better than anyone else how many nights I spend away from our shared room.

  Penny sticks her head out of my leather satchel and hisses at Stelly. Stelly cocks her head to one side before her gaze flickers to me. “Does she understand us?”

  “Yes,” I say. “Penny, don’t eat her. Yet. Only if this ridiculous conversation continues.”

  “Don’t you have a favorite?” Stelly persists.

  She reaches out her hand and begins to scritch Penny between the ears, and my dragon’s vivid eyes flutter shut in response. Well then. Nevermind.

  Her question irritates me. That’s one of the things that’s so magical about life in Avalon; if you happen to love more than one person, why choose?

  “Why are you asking?” I demand.

  “I wondered if you were going to break my brother’s heart,” she asks idly. “I love the four of you all dearly but altogether, you’re a bit of a trainwreck.”

  �
��I’m keenly aware,” I say drily. Those three men of mine treat me like a queen most of the time, and I feel like the queen of trainwrecks. “No, I’m not going to choose one. I don’t have a favorite. They all annoy me equally.”

  “Even though things are going at a different pace with some…” she leaves off delicately.

  “I will eventually sleep with your brother, I’m sure,” I say. “Is that really what you want to hear?”

  I’m being sarcastic, but she nods.

  Stelly is my best friend in the universe, but sometimes, I really don’t understand her.

  “Come on,” I say impatiently. “Let’s get to dinner.”

  I lift the satchel onto my shoulder, carrying my books balanced on my other arm so that Penny has plenty of room. She’s not very convincing as a cat anymore, although when she hasn’t shifted into her dragon form, she’s still dark and furry and vaguely feline. But she’s getting big, bigger than a typical cat, big enough to make my shoulder ache as I wrap my fingers around the leather strap.

  “It’s just some of us are a little bit impatient for your happy ending,” she says as we walk across campus.

  “Trust me,” I say. “Me too.”

  I can’t imagine how we’ll get there. How will I ever get my magic back that was stolen so long ago? How can I ever fit into Avalon given my legacy as the daughter of the dark lord that almost ruined our world? And is there any way that someone like me could have a future with three loyal Crown magicians and spies, anyway?

  But then we turn down the path and Rawl House is spread in front of us, and even if dinner wasn’t waiting ahead of us, my heart would still rise at the sight. The wide white steps going up to the wooden doors are welcoming.

  The building is surrounded by now-barren trees, and Cax leans against one of them, his ever-present brass pocket watch in his hand. He looks up as we near him, and his eyes crinkle at the corners when he sees me. He slips his watch into his pocket without comment.

  No matter what I’ve said to Stelly when she teases me to forgive him, the sight of him makes a strange lightness pass through my body.

  “Your sister has been torturing me and I’m starving,” I tell him.

  “She does that,” he says, as glibly as ever, but when he glances at her, the two of them exchange a long look.

  There’s something warning in Cax’s vivid green eyes when he looks at her. Perhaps he doesn’t want her to meddle. Stelly means well, but she’s only going to make things more awkward. Cax and I will work this out in time.

  I can’t imagine my life without these men of mine in it.

  He offers Stelly and me his arms, and I tuck my hand through his elbow, brushing against his side.

  Stelly pulls a face as she too slips her hand over his forearm, maintaining a much more sedate distance from her brother. “I should stop worrying about your love life and get one of my own.”

  “You really should,” Cax agrees, and she slugs him in the shoulder, far harder than anyone might expect from her petite blond presence. Cax winces in response.

  “Where are your fellow miscreants, anyway?” I ask. “I thought we were all going to dinner.”

  “Careful, freshman.” Mycroft rests his big hand on top of my head as he materializes beside me, clattering up the steps.

  I smile at him, then look to my right. Sure enough, Airren has come up on the other side of Stelly. He leans forward, flashing me a grin. Airren’s cheekbones swell when he smiles, his cool blue eyes crinkling at the corners, and my heart melts every time.

  No matter if things aren’t going perfectly between us all, we still eat every meal together. Like a family. An incredibly screwed-up family, but a family nonetheless.

  Twenty minutes later, we’re in the middle of dinner when the noisy chatter in the dining room suddenly dies. The last voices fade away, dishes clattering. Airren tenses, leaning forward.

  My heart speeds as I look for the door. Maybe it’s the True, again.

  “I’m looking for Tera Donovan.” A man in a dark jacket with piping down the sleeves stands in the doorway of the dining hall.

  Mycroft is on his feet faster than any mortal man should be able to move. “What do you want?”

  “You don’t look like a Tera,” the man says mildly.

  Airren raises his hand to stop Mycroft. “It’s one of the king’s messengers.”

  “Actually, I work for the prince,” the messenger says brightly. His gaze locks onto my face, and he crosses the now-hushed room.

  Mycroft crosses his arms, towering over me.

  Everyone in the room is staring at me. Half of Rawl House is here, paused over their beef and gravy. I grip the edge of the wooden table tightly with one hand as a tremble of anxiety races through my legs.

  But I still push back my chair and stand tall. I aim a pleasant, blank look toward the messenger. No one has to know how I feel on the inside. The only real right I have here in Avalon, after losing my citizenship for my father’s sins, is the right to keep my feelings to myself.

  He holds a cream-colored envelope out to me.

  When I take it from him, the paper is so smooth and rich that it feels like fabric. “Thank you.”

  The pause in the room hangs. The blur of faces continue to gawk at me. Even the messenger hesitates.

  Do they expect me to rip the fancy paper open right here and read whatever is inside? To announce it to the room?

  “I’m going to assume this isn’t an invitation to my own hanging.” I smile brightly and toss the envelope on the table next to my plate. As I sit primly back in my seat, I drape my napkin back over my lap.

  Cax stares at me across the table, green eyes wide. Concern is written across his handsome face, and I lower my eyes so I won’t see his expression. My heart’s already racing, and heat threatens to flush my neck and cheeks if I don’t distract myself.

  I stab a piece of meat with my fork, put it into my mouth, and chew as if the room isn’t watching. The meat is gritty on my tongue and almost too thick to swallow, but I don’t choke. I lift my glass and take a long drink of ice-cold water. Too bad it isn’t something stronger. The academy used to serve wine with dinner when the school first began. Some traditions should be keepers.

  Airren leans close to the messenger, touching his shoulder, and the two whisper back and forth. When Airren takes his seat beside me, his arm brushes mine, and I breathe in the scent of his cologne, of spice and citrus.

  When the messenger weaves back between tables to the central aisle, Mycroft finally sits down. His eyes narrow at the messenger’s back, as if he’ll end the man should this envelope bring me trouble.

  “Don’t shoot the messenger,” I tell Mycroft.

  His eyebrows rise over gold-flecked brown eyes. “Why would I ever do that?”

  “It’s an expression.” I don’t bother to add that it was an expression dirtside. They all know where my strange idioms come from. I can’t remember anymore what I’d heard here in Avalon and what belongs to the dusty city in America where I spent five years. These little tricks of language make it even harder to blend in. It was already hard enough since the face of the dark lord’s daughter has been plastered in the newspapers, announcing my return.

  Slowly, the room shifts again as people look back to their tables, and the conversational volume in the room rises again.

  The conversations were probably about me. But still. At least now I can pretend that I’m not the focus point of so much anger and malignant curiosity.

  “Look at you, cool as can be.” Airren sways in toward me. His shoulder brushing mine before probably hadn’t been an accident, but now it certainly isn’t. Comforted by his strength and solidity, I rest my head on his shoulder.

  “I don’t feel particularly cool.” I pick up the envelope, tapping it against my chin absently.

  “You have to open it!” Stelly’s blue eyes widen in exasperation. “The prince must want to meet you!”

  “I’d assume so,” Airren says.


  “I’m trying to blend,” I remind them. “Into this school, into this realm. I don’t think the prince is helping.”

  Stelly flutters her fingers dramatically. “Look at you. Tera Donovan, the girl with the dragon! The girl who took out the True! The girl who jumped from the top floor of Engineering just ahead of an explosion!”

  “I didn’t take out the True,” I protest. “If I had, I wouldn’t still be cracking jokes about hanging.”

  No matter how I try, I can’t help but think—too many times a day—about the death penalty that Avalon had reinstated after the Savage Night. I can accept that I’m misunderstood, and that some people will see me as my father’s daughter, as a potential villain. I can bear that as long as I have a few friends who know who I truly am. I just don’t want to be that misunderstood, and find myself on the wrong side of the Crown.

  Thinking about it made my throat tighten, as if I can already feel the rough rope against my neck.

  “Don’t be silly, they’d never hang you,” Stelly says lightly.

  They did something far worse to my father, but hey. Let’s roll with optimism.

  Stelly almost always does.

  I push my plate away, glancing down the table to see if I’d lost my audience. No one seems to be watching me now except for my friends. “Well, I think I’m going to skip dessert tonight.”

  Dessert is just vanilla pudding anyway. One expects an academy of magic to be glamorous, but there are still math tests, and even though one would expect they could whip up all kinds of desserts—chocolate fountains and towering cakes—there’s a surprising amount of bland vanilla pudding.